


since i've found serenity

by Hinn_Raven, Sroloc_Elbisivni



Series: You Can't Take the Sky From Me [2]
Category: Firefly, Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefly Fusion, Alternate Universe - Space, Gen, background Tucker/Wash, background Wash/Zoë, crossover AU, different Washs I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 01:18:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11567304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/pseuds/Hinn_Raven, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sroloc_Elbisivni/pseuds/Sroloc_Elbisivni
Summary: Five conversations between the crews of the Serenity and the Valhalla.





	since i've found serenity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hinn_Raven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/gifts).



> On 7/21/16, at 10:53 AM, Steph wrote:  
> > I'm thinking about the Firefly au again
> 
> HAPPY ANNIVERSARY YA NERD
> 
> One year ago today Steph sent me a message about an au we'd previously tossed around that ended up (d)evolving into some seriously intense worldbuilding and Steph writing, what was it, 7k words in a week? XD  
> Originally we'd been planning on the Valhalla just replacing the Serenity but then I had to go and point out how much potential for FUN there was if they both existed. And then I had to write it.
> 
> Takes place both a couple months and a while after the end of "take me out to the black." Warnings for...let's call it a typical expression of Malcolm Reynolds' views on a certain profession.

Carolina stares down at the Mahjong board for a long moment and dully flips over a tile at random before taking another swig of her beer. 

This is entirely Donut’s fault. He has some crazy idea that she needs to interact more with people who aren’t her crew and had kicked her off as soon as they had set down for engine repairs. At least she’d dragged Wash with her after Tucker had gone to meet up with an old pilot school friend, and Tex had sworn that she knew a good, quiet bar.

Of course, Tex forgot—they _all_ forgot—exactly what day it was.

There’s a scraping of chairs and a holler for the chatter and noise to shut up as one of the idiot Alliance fanatics who apparently _frequents_ this bar—thank you, Tex—stands up for a toast.

Carolina tunes it out as Wash makes a careful selection and proceeds to clear half the board. Tex snorts under her breath as she sloshes her drink around the dusty cocktail glass she’d glared out of the bartender.

“Idiot.”

“Idiots have a right to speak, same as anybody else,” Carolina says, quietly. She’s been sitting on her coat for a long while now and is trying not to drink too fast to avoid going back up to the bar. Normally on U-Day she hunkers down, hides out, and waits for tempers to cool because both sides are all too happy to punch her in a fight.

Tex makes a rather impressive disgusted noise to express her thoughts on freedom of speech. Carolina flips over another tile and sighs when it turns out to be one that let her play a combination, dutifully turning over three more tiles and collecting them with another sigh.

“This is too sad to even mock,” Tex says. “Can we go back to the ship now?”

“Donut will just kick us out again,” Wash says with the weight of experience. “We might as well finish our—is that _Zoë_?”

Carolina looks over just in time to see the start of what looks like a very one-sided barfight consisting of, well, the bar against, of all people, Zoë Washburne and Malcolm Reynolds. 

She and Tex trade looks. Tex cracks her knuckles, then her neck.

Carolina downs the rest of her beer and gets to her feet, shrugging on her coat.

Wash lets out an enormous sigh and sweeps the Mahjong tiles back into their case before hurling a glass at a drunkard’s head.

 

* * *

 

“Well, we can never come back here ever again.” Wash nudges some poor bastard on the floor with his foot. 

Next to him, Reynolds stares at where Carolina and Tex are having fun taking on three fighters each. “What just happened?”

“I think we won a barfight.” Zoë had retrieved their hunk of muscle from where he’d been watching the show with an appropriate amount of fear.

“You can _do_ that?” 

Wash sees the bartender’s hand creeping for the transponder and sighs. “Not as such. _Captain!_ We’re about to have company, quit playing with your food!” 

Carolina takes out her last couple of opponents while Tex does something with a stool that will probably require a doctor’s care. Reynolds and the muscle wince. 

“Don’t suppose your ship is close?”

Reynolds pulls out a transmitter, keeping one wary eye on the proceedings. “We’re having a bit of local color over here. A speedy pickup would not go amiss.” 

 

* * *

 

The two captains spend the brief trip from the bar to the _Valhalla_ warily eying each other across the cargo bay. Wash decides not to worry about it—as long as they aren’t shooting at each other, they’re already ahead of most of their past encounters. 

The ship sets down finally, a bit bumpier than usual, and the door swings down, settling onto the dusty planet’s surface. The _Valhalla_ is visible in the distance, and crossing the interim are—

Wash sighs quietly and returns his husband’s cheerful wave with a brief salute. Of course Tucker’s “old pilot school friend” would turn out to be Zoë’s husband. Of course. 

Tex leaves immediately with only a quick nod goodbye, heading down the ramp at a brisk pace. 

Carolina watches her go, and Wash can see as her gaze catches on Tucker and his friend, pulling her face into a thoughtful frown.

“Well, this has been fun. We should do this again sometime.” Reynolds seems far more amiable now that them leaving his ship is an immediate prospect. 

“Maybe we should,” Wash replies, hoping to continue the friendly relations. His life will get much easier if he doesn’t have to worry about running up against this particular ship on a job. He can see that Zoë’s thinking the same thing.

“Maybe,” Carolina says, that frown lingering. “Say, Reynolds, did you get a new pilot?”

Wash doesn’t miss the look the captain swaps with his second, or the way Zoë’s face drops into something cold and hard.

“Might’ve.” Captain Reynolds’ tone stays very light, before changing to something very close to ‘intimidating.' “Might be none of your business.” 

“Really.” Carolina’s gaze stays on Reynolds’ face, a clear challenge.

Never let it be said that Wash doesn’t know how to read a situation. 

“Captain.” He waits until she looks at him before jerking his head towards the door. “We should go. Passengers might be getting antsy.” 

She catches the hint and nods, before extending a hand to Reynolds. 

“Thanks for the lift.” 

Reynolds keeps his hands tucked firmly in his pockets and smirks. “My pleasure.”

Carolina’s lips thin as she withdraws her hand. Wash sighs in unison with Zoë. 

* * *

 

Of course, the next time the two crews run across each other and certain secrets came to light, Wash will have to admit a certain sympathy for Reynolds’ desire to keep them out.

The _Valhalla_ had learned all too well how hard it was keeping the Academy away. 

 

* * *

 

Mal’s on a late-night circuit of _Serenity_ when he finds York in the cargo hold, leaning on the railing and looking out over the empty space, lost in thought.

“Don’t you got your own ship to go to?” Mal asks, coming up next to him.

“ _Someone’s_ excited to see River again. It’s a bit louder than I’d prefer to be around right now, especially since I think she’s trying to get Tex to fight her.”

When Mal freezes, York is quick to reassure, “Tex knows better than to fight someone enhanced, much less someone enhanced who can predict her moves.” He pauses. “At least, I hope she does. I’ll wait to worry about it until after she comes to me for a drink.”

Mal can respect that. “Still doesn’t explain what brings you to my ship.”

“I like seeing new places. And it’s….intriguing, to look at the differences.” He shifts to the side, gesturing to a corner. “We’ve had the same crates of rubber boots stacked almost to the ceiling for about a year now. Client dropped the ball on picking them up, haven’t found anywhere to dump them yet. And over there—“ York points. “—actually, you can’t see it, because we’ve been covering it, but there are some scorch marks from when Carolina tried teaching Junior how to shoot. Tucker still doesn’t know about it.”

Mal snorts and finds himself leaning on the railing right next to York. “Don’t know what the hell she was thinking, taking a kid on board. Least we don’t got one of those.”

York hums, turning to face Mal. “Well, you know how it goes with crew.” There’s a smile playing around his lips.

Mal’s a bit taken aback. “Yeah, but I tend to make sure all of mine are old enough to see over the dash!”

York laughs. “Fair. Although if that’s all you want, we do keep a box around for Junior in case Tucker’s otherwise occupied.”

He sounds so earnest that Mal had to squint at him. “Do—you—no.”

York just smiles.

“Not even your captain is that _fei hua.”_

“If you say so.” York turns back to look at the hold, smile on his lips. 

“I do say so! Gorram, your ship almost makes mine look sane!” Mal’s on the verge of laughter.

York grins in a way that suggests a smart remark is imminent, but ends up interrupted before he could speak.

“York.” 

Both men turn around to see Inara, lovely in emerald tones, standing behind them. She doesn’t even nod at Mal, moving instead towards York.

He steps in gracefully to kiss her on both cheeks. “Inara Serra. You’re a vision, as always.”

“And you remain an inveterate charmer.” Her smiles brings out her dimples. “What brings you to the wilds of space?”

“I decided I ought to follow your example before the Guild could throw me out themselves. It’s definitely been an experience—you meet the most interesting people out here.” He glances at Mal, who’s too busy staring at him to catch the way Inara’s expression freezes.

“You do indeed.” Her voice is as pleasant and musical as always. “I’m afraid I was sent to find you—it seems that you’re needed back on your ship.”

York sighs. “And now I go to soothe the children’s ruffled tempers. It was lovely to see you, Inara.” He lets his gaze linger on Mal, who knows he’s staring and can’t stop himself. “Captain Reynolds.”

The way he walks back into the corridors of the ship is not quite an amble and not quite a glide, but it’s mesmerizing.

“York is known for his casual way of putting a client at ease,” Inara remarks, neutrally.

Mal manages to scrape some semblance of his thought processes back together. “Wait, you mean to tell me _he’s_ a—“ he couldn’t quite finish the sentence. 

The look Inara gives him is downright withering. “Sometimes. Malcolm Reynolds, you are the most dense man I have ever met.”

 

* * *

 

Mal wanders back out of the cargo hold with his head spinning after Inara stalks off. 

_’most dense man she’s ever met’ my sweet pistol. can’t blame a man for not catching on to something hasn’t been said._

Everyone knows Companions re supposed to look shiny and polished and _regal._ Like they know that mayors and lords would bow to kiss their feet if they fluttered their lashes. Like the only reason they don’t have the stars for gems is because the things don’t shine enough. Like her smile could hop right inside his head—

Mal grabs that thought and stomps on it as he turns into the kitchen. Point _is,_ York doesn’t look like none of those things. York is loose-limbed and friendly and pulls you in before you could realize he was flirt—

Mal stiffens and changes course to grab the bottle of whiskey and bring it to the table. 

Goddammit. The man had been—like it was a _game_ —

“Mind if I join you?”

Mal looks up to see Church—the captain Church, not the craz—not the _reader_ Church—standing in the doorway. He gestures absently with the bottle. “Be my guest.”

They share the glass in silence for a few minutes, before Mal blurts out his mind. “Turns out your renter knows my renter.”

She raises her eyebrows in a mild reaction and sips at her glass. “Both trained on Sihnon, didn’t they?”

She wasn’t even _surprised._ “Didn’t realize you were renting to a whore, ’s all,” he mutters.

Church sets her glass down with an audible _clack._ “Pardon?”

Mal stops with the glass halfway to his lips. “Uh.”

“Care to repeat that.” Her tone leaves absolutely no space for a question.

“No. No I do not.” Mal looks back at his glass.

He can feel when her gaze drops off him. “Smart move. I know we’re supposed to be making nice for the psychics and all, Reynolds, but if you call my friend a whore again, I’ll punch you in the face. For starters.”

Mal raises his eyebrows into his glass and waits to speak again. “He’s very…casual.”

“Part of his charm.”

“I think he was flirting with me.”

Church pauses with the bottle in her hand, so it seems like he had surprised her, but she continues without much disruption. “Also part of his charm. He’s a friendly person. Likes to make people comfortable.”

“Not ‘xactly what you’d expect of a—“ Her green eyes laser-focus on him. “…Companion.”

“Wouldn’t exactly expect a Companion to leave the Core, now, would you.” 

“Grant ya that.” 

“But he’s definitely…unexpected.” Something like a smile curs at her lips. “When I was first looking to rent the shuttle, he showed up looking like he’d wandered in from further out and I almost threw him off my ship. Told him I would only deal with the renter and no go-between.” Church shakes her head. “Thought I’d screwed myself out of my only chance to rent the shuttle when he told me who he was.”

“Well, I’m sure you could have made up the difference somehow.” Her roots have never been a secret. Alliance probably falls over themselves to hand her jobs.

“You think?” Her voice takes on a sharp note. “I’ve got more hands, Reynolds. More mouths to feed. I can’t run the lean routes with this many people, I can’t run the risky routes with a child onboard, and I can’t run the shady routes with the Alliance watching me like a hawk for the slightest slip. I started out with nothing but a barely-clean record, cessations pay, and my cat. Don’t take it upon yourself to tell me what about me you’re _sure_ of. Captain.” As she goes along, her Core accent becomes crisper and crisper until you could slice vegetables on it. 

Once again, Mal looks away first.

“Guess I never figured that the trouble with being a turncoat is that neither side wants you,” he mutters, after another long silence.

Church snorts and downs the rest of her glass. “Astute as ever, Reynolds."

* * *

 

Between them, the two captains manage to finish off the bottle of whiskey in a mutual silence. It isn’t exactly comfortable, but it is peaceful. 

When she’s drained the last of her glass, Carolina sighs and pushs back her chair.

“Well, thanks for the drink, Reynolds.”

“You can pay next time."

She can’t quite stop a rising snort. “Don’t suppose I can pay by pulling your ass out of another barfight?”

He grumbles something inaudible and hunkers down into his glass. 

Carolina sighs, because she _had_ promised to play nice. 

“Yeah, I’ll pay you back.”

She leaves the glass in the sink, and pauses. “No hard feelings, about last time.”

“Hard feelings?” He sounds almost offended.

“I mean, I wouldn’t have wanted you on my ship either.” 

“Oh. Right. Last time.” He’s enormously subdued. 

Carolina shakes her head before walking closer and holding out her hand.

He stares at it for a long moment, and then reaches out his own hand.

They shake, and it feels like the start of something.

“It’s a deal, then.” 

He seems to collect himself, and withdraws his hand to point at her. “No rotgut, either. Gotta be something good.”

“Drink some water, Reynolds,” is all she says before heading back to her own ship.

She can hear Kaylee and Donut near _Serenity’s_ engine on her way out, so she detours to the _Valhalla’s_ to try and find some privacy.

Privacy turns out to not be an option, but York is there, so that’s okay. He’s draped himself over the lower turbine, his head vanishing into the mechanism. Delta’s sitting on his foot.

The parrot opens one eye, whistles at her, and then to all appearances, goes back to sleep. There’s a faint _bonk_ from somewhere further up York’s body. 

“Ow.”

Carolina snorts, again, settling in on the floor. “Watch your head.”

“Yeah, yeah.” His voice comes out muffled and echo-y. “How’s your reunion going?”

“Had a drink with Reynolds. Bit of a conversation.”

“Well, that’s nice.”

“Apparently, you were flirting with him.” She tries to aim for amusement, rather than hurt. She has no right to be hurt. York flirts with everyone—she’d meant what she told Reynolds. He liked to charm people, liked to make them comfortable. He isn’t interested in being tied down to anyone, and he certainly isn’t _serious._  

Not even with her. _Especially_ not with her.

“I was testing a personal theory.”

“Really?” She shifts against the wall, settling in. “Care to enlighten me?”

“Inara cares about him. And…unless I’m mistaken, he cares about her as well. It’s rather sweet.” He sighs. “Even if neither of them seem willing to admit it.”

“Well then.” Something occurs to her, and she closes her eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t make Inara Serra dislike us too.”

“Oh, she knows I wasn’t serious. I think.”

“Not serious? Are you sure?” And this is a little too much like prodding a bruise, but she can’t resist poking it. “He’s not bad-looking. I suppose.” She’s known since the first day she rented to York that he’d be moving on, eventually. Everyone always leaves. So what if it’s sooner, rather than later?

“No fear of that.” And York finally starts to wiggle his way out, jostling Delta into flapping down to the floor and wadding over to Carolina, perching on her leg with a grumble. “He’s cute, but he’s not my captain.”

The effect of York winking as he slid out is effectively ruined by the dust covering everything from his ribs on up. 

Carolina couldn’t have stopped the laugh coming up if she tried.

 


End file.
